“A—a person. A dark-haired person—with a—face.”
“Is that all?”
“No. And an unshaven chin, a soiled flannel shirt, and a brown felt hat with two holes punched in it.”
“Have I always been that?”
“Yes—always.”
“You liked that—that person better than you do this one?”
“I’m—not sure.” She straightened suddenly in his arms and drew away to look at him. “Why—I’ve only known you—I only met you a few hours ago. It’s dreadful of me—Mr. Gallatin.”
“Phil,” he corrected.
“Phil, then. The suddenness of everything—I’m not quite sure of myself——”